


Domo-nation

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dubious Consent due to Drugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this alternate version of the episode 'Assassin', Avon is given a drug that makes him need to be sexually dominated. Being rescued doesn't change that.</p><p>Ever noble, Tarrant is man enough for the challenge.</p><p>And then of course Servalan's <i>other</i> schemes trip them up.</p><p>(Note: Avon has some choice in the matter, but not enough to call it free consent. I'd go with dubious consent rather than rape, but I prefer to overwarn for this situation.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domo-nation

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Avon looked down at the bowl filled with brown mush. It didn't smell like anything in particular. This was fortunate really, because if it smelled like what it looked like, then he would have serious doubts about his cell-mate's sanity. "What is this, exactly?" he asked the old man, Nebrox.

Nebrox answered without slowing his spoon's assault on his own bowl of sludge. "It's mangon. It's a sort of stew made from fungus. It takes some getting used to, but it's really very nourishing. If you don't want it, I..."

Even if he hadn't had his stomach tied up in nervous knots considering all the ways his plan could go wrong, had already gone wrong, slaver's fungoid mush would be the last thing on Avon's menu. Even leaving out the possibility of docility drugs. "Oh, you have it." Avon handed the bowl to the old man. "Eat it in good health."

"Here!" A shout came from the cell door. "You! Skinny! Eat that!"

Avon and Nebrox turned to see a slaver's face in the observation window of their cell door. Avon recognized him. Benos. The one who had his teleport bracelet. "What do you want?" Avon asked, sharply, despite Nebrox's cringing and silent, eye-rolling, warnings. If he could get Benos into the cell and get the bracelet off him without Benos noticing... but he'd have to be very angry, not to notice that.

"I want you to eat your own dinner." 

So it probably did contain a suppressant. No doubt Benos wanted to ensure Avon's cooperation at the auction.

"You're a little short on manners, aren't you?" Avon said in beautifully mellow tones, all the better to show Benos as a lout. He laughed. "In fact, you're a little short in every regard." Benos was a sadistic bully, just the type to be sensitive about his lack of height.

Benos growled an oath and flung the door open. There was a loud thump as it hit the wall. Avon braced himself. Nebrox whimpered and scuttled to the far side of the cell.

"Benos!" A woman's voice, throaty and arrogant, rang out. "What are you doing?"

Benos paused in the open doorway. "Just keeping the merchandise in line, madam Verlis."

"Which one?" A woman who matched the voice moved into the doorway. 

Benos shifted grudgingly aside to make room for her. "The new one," he replied. "He won't eat."

"Ah." Verlis's faded eyes travelled the length of Avon's body. 

Avon straightened instinctively, head up in proud resentment of her possessive gaze. Verlis's smile told him he'd just made a mistake.

"Yes, I see. We'll have to do something about that. But Benos, no marks." Benos sulked, but Verlis reminded him, "You're getting the finder's fee, aren't you? A percentage of his price?"

"Yes," Benos said sullenly, "I'll get some of the men to give him a pure dose of suppressant." 

Verlis patted him on the arm. "No. I don't think the suppressant." Verlis smiled. "My special formula. That should keep him safe, without harm to the bidding. The customers like to see a bit of ... spirit."

"Damn," Avon muttered as the two slavers retreated, shutting and locking the door behind them. "Quick," he asked Nebrox, "do you know what they're talking about?" He grasped Nebrox's shoulders and gave him a shake.

"I don't know. I don't. Only..." 

Avon released Nebrox. "Only what?" he urged.

Nebrox looked embarrassed. "I don't like to think about it. They can make you want to... please them." Nebrox looked up at Avon. "They wouldn't bother with an old wreck like me, but a fine, well-set up young fellow like you..."

"Marvellous." He hadn't counted on being drugged. He was going to need his wits about him. Or someone's wits. Nebrox seemed reasonably sharp. Perhaps he'd developed a resistance to the suppressant. "Nebrox. I have a way out of here, but I'm going to need your help." It was taking a chance. Perhaps Nebrox was a spy for the slavers, but there wasn't much choice.

"You'll take me with you?"

"I'll think about it." Really, what would they do with this old man on Scorpio? 

"No. I mean it, you've got to promise."

Avon sighed. "All right. I promise. You've got to get my bracelet from Benos."

"Shhh," said Nebrox as footsteps rang in the corridor. He melted back into the corner of the cell as Benos returned with four large friends.

It was a short fight with a pre-ordained finish. Avon wound up on his knees on the hard cell floor, arms held behind his back, head up and jaws pried open. Benos stood over him, panting, and rubbed at his leg where one of Avon's blows had landed. "Hold him still," Benos ordered. He withdrew a small vial from his pocket, held it up as if to inspect the container for damage, then uncapped it. Avon tried to struggle, but the slavers were professionals. The vial's contents were tipped down Avon's throat. He choked, half breathing the stuff in, half swallowing it. It tasted indescribable. Sickly sweet, and metallic, with overtones of crushed insect. He would have vomited, but a gag was roughly shoved in his mouth and Benos warned him, "It tastes worse going down the second time." Then he was shackled, hands behind his back, and ankles linked by a short length of chain. They left him lying on the floor while they chained Nebrox then they removed the gag and hauled him to his feet.

"Move!' Benos said, shoving Avon in the back for emphasis.

Avon shook his head. He was lightheaded, but the queasiness was passing. He stumbled several times on the way to the auction yard and one of the slavers asked Benos, "How much did you give him?"

"Enough." Benos grinned and added, "Enough to put on a good show. His new owner ought to be grateful. By the time he comes down, he'll be well broken in."

Avon wasn't paying much attention to Benos. He was fully occupied cataloging his body's response to the drug. It didn't feel like any of the 'compliance' drugs Federation interrogators had used on him. His mind was clear, but his muscular control was skewed, and he was hot, hotter even than a forced march in chains over a sandy desert could account for. His mouth was dry. He wanted a drink. He wanted someone to kiss...no. No! He stumbled again, and rough hands helped him up. He wanted the hands to linger, to press against his heated flesh, to ... NO!

"No!" he shouted and broke away from them.

Benos caught him easily and laughed when Avon turned to him and began helplessly rubbing against the slaver. "No, don't waste it on me, pretty boy. Save it for the paying customers."

Avon wasn't sure when it happened, but he had an erection, probably the prize-winning hard-on of his entire life, straining desperately against the tough leather of his trousers. He twisted and tried to get some sort of friction against his penis, but it was impossible. Each step pulled leather tight, compressing what needed to be free. He jerked away again and fell to the sand. The sand wasn't any help, either, sliding away from his hips as he thrust.

They got him to his feet once more and this time they held him upright between them. Nebrox was dragged along in their wake. From time to time, Avon's uncoordinated movements brought him around enough to see Nebrox's concerned face. Everything was whirling, sand and faces and occasional slices of a hard, blue sky. Then they stopped, and hands held Avon tightly as the shackles were removed.

He didn't realize at first that his hands and ankles were free. He stood, panting, legs outstretched for balance, and mind still whirling, whirling. Something got through to him, a scent, a familiar voice, something in the pattern of stark whites and dense blacks that the desert sun made of human flesh. He lifted his head, seeking.

Benos was talking. "One moment, gentlemen. A late addition. Perhaps you'd like to send back a few details to your clients. Now I know he looks soft," he said.

At that moment, two things happened. Avon saw Servalan, sitting at her ease under an awning next to Verlis, and his hands found their way to the zip of his trousers. Looking at Servalan, knowing how she desired to use him, use him in the most degrading ways possible, it was impossible for him not to respond. He ripped the zip open, releasing his blood-gorged cock to the full view of Servalan. And all the buyers and slavers. Servalan was staring at him, running her tongue over her red, red lips, mouth opening as if to kiss...or as if to lean over and whisper something in Verlis's ear. He worked his cock harder, brutally squeezing and pulling.

Benos was still talking. "Well, now you see, he's not soft at all. Nor shy, either. You can tell your ladies, and your gentlemen, too, that he's strong enough to work all day and still have plenty of energy left over for any little chores you might have for him in the evenings."

One of the buyers said, "He's drugged."

"We don't normally 'enhance' our merchandise," Benos said, "But this fellow seemed to have so much to offer, it would have been a pity not to let him show you. The drug's more of an 'ice-breaker' than anything else. A training aid."

From the tent beside Servalan, Verlis said, "Gentlemen, if you do not wish to bid, we will pass onto the next item." 

Servalan smirked. She was watching Avon's hands, blurring in motion on his cock, then shifted her gaze back to his face, devouring the humiliation and frantic desire.

It wasn't enough. Avon pushed his trousers down just far enough to free his balls, sparing a hand to roll and tug on them. It helped, the edge of pain helped, but it still wasn't enough.

The bidding started. Avon didn't pay attention until he heard Servalan offer seven hundred vems for him. She wanted him. He sighed and spread his legs further for balance, feeling the leather crease against his buttocks. Would she use him there, he wondered. Looking into her eyes, he knew the answer and it excited him.

"You don't want him, Lady! Take me!" Nebrox threw himself at Servalan's feet, begging. "Take me, Lady. I'm strong, I won't let you down."

Avon felt a rush of jealousy. It should be him, prostrate at Servalan's feet, begging. But some small part of him held back. Servalan would give him what he needed, but then she would kill him. But if she would give him what he needed first ...

Nebrox was picked up and bodily flung out of the way by Benos. The old man landed close to Avon. He stared at Avon with a peculiar intensity, and when Avon looked at him, he drew Avon's teleport bracelet out of his tunic for an instant. Teleport! Avon could escape. But...like this? He needed... needed... Avon groaned and shut his eyes, working his penis in a painfilled frenzy.

"Two thousand," Servalan's voice rang out, and Avon sensed it was the winning bid. Servalan would have him. Yes. 

"Avon!" Dayna's voice? 

Avon opened his eyes, startled as a gun thumped to the sand in front of him. He made no move to pick it up. Nebrox tugged at his arm and held up Avon's teleport bracelet. "I called your friends. Now, take me with you."

Dayna stared at Avon for a long instant, then whirled as Benos and the other guards came up. She shot several of them and said, "Old man, put that bracelet on him."

"But what about me?" Nebrox asked, plaintively. 

"Here." Dayna tossed another bracelet to Nebrox. "Now hurry!" There were too many guards for her to handle on her own. "You!" she yelled, suddenly seeing Servalan ducking behind the tent. A slaver got in the way and Dayna shot him instead. Buyers and slaves were running in panic, confusing the issue, but soon the guards would take charge. Dayna chanced a look back at Avon. The old man had managed to get a teleport bracelet on Avon, despite... well, Avon's hand was still moving. 

"Take us up now!" Dayna shouted into her bracelet.

***

Avon, Dayna and Nebrox appeared on Scorpio's flight deck. "Avon!" Tarrant said, shocked, "What on Earth do you think you're doing!" He moved quickly to Avon's side and grabbed his arm, roughly dragging him away from Dayna.

Avon shut his eyes in ecstasy and moaned, leaning heavily against Tarrant. "Yes, Tarrant, yes," he murmured, relaxing into the grip.

"Avon!" This time it was Vila shouting.

Avon paid him no attention. Tarrant was there, right up against him, tall and strong. Maybe even strong enough. He moaned again, and kissed the arm that held him, then bit down, hard enough to sting.

Tarrant yelped, more in surprise than pain, and jerked aside. He grabbed Avon by the shoulders and shook. Avon grinned like a maniac. Tarrant looked around wildly and his eyes fastened on Neebrox. Dayna and Vila were simply staring, and Soolin seemed amused, but the old man fidgeted in an almost guilty fashion. "Who are you and what have you done to Avon?"

"Me? I haven't done anything!" Neebrox's voice quavered. "I helped him! I called you, remember? I'm Neebrox. I'm not one of them."

The voice was familiar. He was the one who'd called over Avon's communicator. "But you do know what's happened to him." It wasn't a question.

"He's been drugged." Neebrox looked from one anxious face to another. "He should be all right, though. They were going to sell him... sell us. They couldn't give him anything... well, anything that would...well..."

Soolin commented, "That sounds likely. They'd probably have to give a refund if he died immediately after the sale." She sounded as amused as she looked. "Isn't that uncomfortable, Tarrant?" By this time, Avon had clutched Tarrant around the waist and was thrusting against him.

"Yes, now that you mention it, it is," Tarrant replied in as dignified a fashion as he could. "Vila, could you manage to shift yourself over here and lend a hand?"

Vila was beginning to see the funny side of it. He said, "Well, I can see one of you could use a hand."

"If you're volunteering, I'd be grateful," Tarrant said, honestly. He was trying not to react, but Avon's hands were caressing him in quite intimate places and with an expert's touch. His code of honor wouldn't permit him to abuse the obviously deranged, but something had to be done soon.

Vila shrugged and tried to pry Avon loose. "Come on, Avon. Let Uncle Vila take care of that for you. And you," Vila said to Tarrant, "will owe me, won't you?"

"Anything," Tarrant breathed in relief.

But Avon resisted Vila, tightening his grip on Tarrant. "No! Not you!" 

"Someone do something!" Tarrant's voice wavered, rising and falling an octave in one word as Avon's wandering hands squeezed, like someone testing fruit for ripeness.

Soolin took pity on him and slapped a drug-patch on the back of Avon's neck, which was about the only bit of bare skin that wasn't burrowing into Tarrant. Avon collapsed and Tarrant caught him under the arms. "Thanks, Soolin." He dumped Avon into the nearest seat, and then straightened, rubbing at his back. "Now, can we try to figure out what's going on and what we're going to do?"

Dayna said, "She was there." Now that Avon wasn't distracting her, all her frustration returned. "I almost had her!"

"Servalan?" Tarrant asked.

"Servalan."

"But what about Cancer?" Difficult as it was to think about it, that was what Avon's cockeyed- ah, poor choice of words- plan had been in aid of.

"I don't know. I didn't see him." Dayna was angry, and she was pacing. "All I saw was Avon. And her." She threw herself into another seat to brood.

"And him." Soolin said, looking at Neebrox. "Did Avon tell you anything? Did he find out anything?"

Neebrox swallowed nervously as everyone looked at him. "He didn't really have a chance, you see."

Vila said, "That's it, then. Servalan's hired killer is going to get us all. Of course, I don't think Avon will notice." Even sedated, Avon was still twitching under the slaver-drug's influence.

"Servalan? Was that the Federation woman..." Neebrox backed up a step as Tarrant whirled on him.

"What do you know about her?"

"Only that she was at the auction today, and she came in a ship yesterday. I saw it when we were out exercising. It looked Federation, but really, it couldn't have been, could it?"

"What did she do?" Dayna said, sitting up with interest.

"Well, then, this morning another ship arrived, a black ship. But nobody got out of it, and no one was allowed near it, except this Servalan. She went on board, stayed for about an hour, and then she came back to the slave huts and made a purchase."

Tarrant was surprised. Everything Servalan did had a reason, but this seemed pointless. In her position of power, she already had plenty of underlings and mutoids to do her bidding. "What?"

"Yes. You see, a party of travelling entertainers was brought in about two months ago. She bought one and they went back to the ship."

"Why?" Soolin asked.

"I don't know. I don't even know which one it was. I only know that she took one of them back to the black ship, and then she went back to the slaver's compound."

Tarrant said, "The black ship. We saw one. It lifted out of orbit not long after we set Avon down. Could that be the one you saw?"

Neebrox nodded. "It might be. I saw it from the window. It took off just before your friend..."

"Avon," Vila supplied.

"Avon, then, before Avon was put in my cell." Neebrox looked around. "I hope I've helped." 

Tarrant was already at the controls. "I'm plotting the black ship's course."

"Why should he be still going that way?" Vila asked.

"We can try a sweep in that general area. That is, unless someone has a better suggestion?"

***

"The sedative will wear off in an hour," Soolin told Tarrant. "But according to Orac's analysis, not the pirate's drug."

"Well, give him another shot, then," he replied, busying himself with controls that didn't really require attention. The detectors were on, and the search pattern laid in, and Slave given strict instructions- not that Slave was all that reliable, but the detectors were good, having been recently overhauled by him and Avon... Avon...Tarrant glanced around the flight deck. Avon had been bundled off into a sleeping alcove. The others were quietly occupied far enough away so that Soolin's quiet voice couldn't carry to them. Vila had given Neebrox a meal and a change of clothes, then directed him to one of the non-essential positions, and brought out a board game. Dayna also seemed to have taken kindly to the gentle old man, and joined them. 

"I don't think that's a good idea. He needs help, Tarrant. Specifically, he needs sex."

Well, Soolin had been known to be blunt. "Are you volunteering?"

"I'm making an observation. I've heard about this trick of the pirates'. He'll need to be dominated, forced into it." Soolin glanced at Tarrant. "Of all of us on this ship, you and I are probably the only ones who could do it."

"So?"

"I don't have sex with men." Soolin's voice was flat. "Not anymore."

"What about Dorian?" Tarrant asked, defensively. Having heard even a little of Soolin's background, he supposed he could understand, but he was looking for a way out- any way out at all.

"Dorian never asked anything more of me than the appearance of a mistress. He had his own... amusements. I didn't know what they were, and I didn't care, as long as they didn't involve me." Soolin sounded patient. "I don't say it will kill Avon not to have sex. I don't know, actually. I do know he will suffer. The decision is yours." She got up and went over to a position where she could monitor the detectors.

"Damn," Tarrant said under his breath. He got up, knowing everyone was aware of his every move, even though they didn't say anything. "Soolin. Take the watch, would you?"

Soolin nodded, expressionless.

Tarrant took off his jacket and left it folded neatly over the back of his seat. What I do for the good of my crew he thought to himself as he entered Avon's alcove and pulled the privacy screen shut behind him. He looked down at Avon and sighed again. This was probably going to destroy what little balance they'd achieved in their 'relationship'. He stripped and set his clothes to one side, then maneuvered Avon's clothes off. It was a struggle to bend limp arms and legs, but the alcove was so cramped he figured it would be best if Avon wasn't conscious and flailing around. Besides, he wanted a moment longer to get used to the idea. He finished peeling the last scrap of undergarment off Avon's sweaty body, and allowed himself to really look for the first time. 

Avon had a bit of thickening around the middle and more scars than he'd realized. Mostly they were subtle, just thin lines raised slightly above the pale cream of Avon's skin. Across one shoulder there was an irregular patch the size of his palm that had the ridged, rough appearance of a major wound left to heal on its own. But all in all, it wasn't an ill-proportioned body, nor an unattractive one. Tarrant had slept with other men before, sometimes merely to relieve the boredom of the Federation Space Academy which was notoriously short of female cadets. Sometimes he'd done it as a friendly gesture. Sometimes it had been a sort of testing of the social order. And once or twice, he'd met a man that he'd felt like bedding purely out of physical attraction.

Looking at Avon's nude form, and that quivering, drooling cock, Tarrant felt himself begin to respond. That was a relief. If, after he'd steeled himself to it, he couldn't get aroused he wouldn't be able to help. Not if he put together Avon's refusal of Vila along with Soolin's insistence that Avon needed domination. He couldn't be soft- in any sense of the word.

He'd enough experience. Whether or not Avon did was something else again. He sighed. He couldn't put it off any longer. Avon was still erect. It wouldn't help to wait. He rolled Avon onto his back and straddled him before reaching under Avon's neck to peel off the drug-patch.

Avon's eyes flew open. The pupils were dilated so wide his eyes looked black. He probably was unable to focus, to recognize the man who held him down, Tarrant realized as Avon began struggling under him. "It's all right," he said, while leaning heavily on Avon's arms, pinning him to the bed. "It's Tarrant."

"Tarrant?" Avon sounded lost. Reflexively his hips thrust upward as his mouth twisted in pain. "Tarrant? I need..."

"I know. I'll take care of it." He slipped a hand between their bodies and gripped Avon's cock. Avon's shriek told him that method was out of the question. Oral sex wasn't likely to work, either. Not the way Avon was lurching about. Something would wind up amputated. Which only left..."I'm sorry," he said, roughly. He cursed Soolin for not knowing, and himself for not remembering, the necessity of a lubricant. He couldn't leave Avon now, certainly not for long enough to get dressed and go find something. He didn't think spit would be enough, but that was all he had.

The privacy screen opened a few inches with a whisper and Tarrant turned, furious and embarrassed at the interruption. Vila's face appeared in the gap. "Here. You'll need this." Vila tossed a small jar into the alcove. It bounced onto the bed. Vila grimaced. "Good luck." And the face disappeared as the privacy screen sealed again.

"Well, for once Vila had good timing," Tarrant commented. Avon didn't seem to have noticed anything, which was fortunate for Vila. "Avon. Avon!" Tarrant leaned all his weight onto Avon's shoulders. "Listen to me! You've been drugged. I have to do this. Do you understand?"

Avon's mouth opened and closed several times before a single coherent word formed. "Yeesss." He gasped and Tarrant had to resist a sudden impulse to kiss those parted lips. Conditioned response. It was what he was accustomed to doing when someone was underneath him, aroused and looking at him with lo... well, he wouldn't call it love- not Avon, for pity's sake. The man didn't know how to love. Lust. That was all it was. Desperation and lust.

"Turn over," Tarrant said in calm, Federation officer command voice.

"Make me," Avon whispered back. His eyes were blacker than before. "I can't just... give in..." He bucked against Tarrant, hard.

Oh, hell. He grabbed an arm and twisted it behind Avon's back. That gave him leverage to force Avon onto his belly. Avon fought him every inch of the way, but it wasn't quite as difficult a battle as he'd feared. No doubt survivor Avon was over-ruling proud Avon. He got a handful of hair and shoved Avon's face into the bedding. Both legs still kicked, and the one free arm reached back to claw at him. If Avon didn't stop fighting one of them would be seriously hurt. Or both of them if Avon got in a lucky blow. No help for it. "You're mine, you bitch!" he yelled, and yanked hard on both the hair and the arm he held. "You'll please me! It's all you're good for." Tarrant had gone on leave with Jarvik once, and never thought he'd find any use for the experience. Jarvik was a marvelous fighter, courageous and innovative, but he was also a throwback to some primordial caveman-type. Jarvik never seemed to be deprived, so presumably some people liked that sort of thing, but Tarrant had never met any of them. Before now.

It seemed to be working. Avon was trembling, but he wasn't otherwise moving. 

"Good," Tarrant praised Avon for his effort. "Just lie still while a real man uses that pretty hole of yours." Gods above and below, all the ones he'd didn't believe in, please let Avon be too groggy to remember this later. He released Avon's hair, and the dark head turned slightly on the pillow, eyes open, but staring blankly, as if in shock. Cautiously, he guided the pinioned arm down to a comfortable position at Avon's side. He found the jar of lubricant under one knee. He opened it and examined the contents quickly. No odor, colorless, thick and slippery. Perfect. He scooped some up and greased himself. He was a little too used to self-manipulation sessions lately, and had to lock his hand in place while he did some deep-breathing and meditation exercises. 

All right. Next. Two fingers, thickly coated with lube, up into Avon. Tight. Damn tight. Bloody marvelous. Rape your virgin commander. That wasn't on any of the 'ways to achieve promotion' tip-sheets he'd memorized. Avon grunted with discomfort, but he didn't move. Tarrant ran his other hand reflexively in a soothing motion over Avon's back, as he would have done with any nervous lover. He couldn't say it made Avon relax, but he didn't tense any further, so, on the whole, he judged it a positive effect, and continued back-stroking with one hand, while the other worked at Avon's buttocks. Avon did have a very nice ass, well-shaped, soft-skinned, but firmly muscled beneath. Tarrant hardened further as he allowed his thoughts free rein. He might as well enjoy this. He was certainly going to pay for it later. Three fingers, and a whimper. An actual whimper from the man who'd got up from five days of torture with a snarl. Still tight. He kept working, but the muscles refused to loosen. 

It didn't seem natural. After five minutes of fingering, there ought to be some effect. Well, actually, yes, there was. Avon had spread his legs and raised his hips, revealing an erection that seemed improbably large for a man of his general build. The sheet brushed against Avon's cock as Tarrant shifted, and Avon gave another pain-filled cry. Those pirates were true sadists. Not enough to make a man submit against his will, he had to be in agony. The drug probably worked on the rectal muscles as well. Which meant the longer Tarrant waited, the more Avon would suffer. But if he took him without opening him properly...

"Avon," he said, helplessly. "I can't. It's going to hurt. I might even damage you."

One dark eye moved, seeking him, and Avon's mouth opened. "Hurts now. Do it." Then Avon brought his left wrist to his mouth and bit down, drawing blood.

He was right. Tarrant moved forward, letting his cock part Avon's ass-cheeks. They were warm, and quivered. He reached down with one hand and guided himself in. "AH!" Bloody hell, it felt good. He thrust, and thrust again, working himself in farther with each push. He'd been blessed with a generous endowment, and it took a while to force all of it into the tight, hot tunnel beneath him. 

Avon was making noises, too, but Tarrant wasn't paying attention. He'd never had anyone as tight and hot as this, and the sensation was overwhelming. He held onto Avon's waist, keeping control. It wasn't easy, for the first stroke had driven Avon into the bed, compressing Avon's hyper-sensitive cock and swollen-to-bursting balls. Avon cried out again and his entire body bucked, ass muscles tightening even further. A hot spurt spattered Tarrant's hands. "Yes, that's right," he crooned. "Do it. Do it for me, Avon." He curled over Avon even tighter, pumping harder, pounding into his leader's ass. Avon was moaning in a high-pitched wail now, and still coming. Tarrant reached between Avon's shaking legs. "There you go, sweetheart," he murmured, and rolled the hot globes of Avon's testicles, thumb caressing the velvet surfaces. Another outcry, this one nearly a scream, and the hot handful leaped once more, as a last jet bathed Tarrant's hand.

Avon collapsed, gasping, and Tarrant pulled his trapped hands out from underneath. Avon was still sealed around Tarrant's cock, still stimulating him to mate wildly. He forced Avon's legs open wider, and continued snapping his hips forward so forcefully he could hear the air pressed out of Avon's lungs with each stroke.

He couldn't say how long he lasted, but it seemed a very long time before his climax hit and he filled Avon with his juices. He lay, panting, on top of Avon for several seconds before thinking perhaps he ought to move. Only it seemed too much trouble. And his penis was happy where it was, in its damp, warm, comfortable little den.

***

"Get off."

"What?" Tarrant mumbled, instinctively reaching for the warm body beneath him. A cuddle, that's what he wanted. Maybe some more later. But for now, a nice, warm cuddle. He kissed the shoulder beneath him.

"Tarrant!"

"What?" Groggily, Tarrant began to realize that his lover was annoyed with him. What had he done wrong? From the tired thrum along his nerve endings, they'd had a very successful tussle. His eyes opened as he tried to lever himself up. A man's back. Wide-chested, narrow waist. Nice, pale skin. A few bruises, or maybe they were love-bites. Oh. SHIT. Tarrant pulled out and rolled off as he remembered. He sat up and brushed at his face, trying to clear his mind. "Are you all right, Avon?"

"Yes." Tightly spoken. Just that one word. And a back still turned to him.

"Perhaps we should check you out with Orac," Tarrant offered hesitantly. 

"No."

"We don't know if the drug has cleared," Tarrant suggested. Actually, he was afraid he might have hurt Avon. His penis showed no signs of blood, which was good, but wasn't necessarily proof that Avon hadn't been harmed. He winced recalling the force he'd used to enter, and the cries Avon had made. "You should..."

Avon turned over to face Tarrant. His eyes were normal. Angry, but normal. He wiped at his lip, rubbing at a line of dried blood, then looked down to examine his wrist. "I'll need a bandage for this."

"Avon."

The dark eyes lifted. "Thank you," Avon said, politely and utterly without expression. "You carried out a distasteful mission successfully."

"Avon."

"What about Cancer?" Avon's mouth twisted. "I was unable to find out any information."

Tarrant gave up. Avon was going to pretend nothing happened, and that was that. "The old man, Neebrox, told us he'd seen Servalan go into a black ship. We're trying to follow it. Or at least, we were." Tarrant looked down at his chrono, which was the one thing he'd not taken off. "Several hours ago." He began gathering his clothes. "I'd better get back and see how the search is progressing."

Avon made no move to get up.

"Why don't you rest for a while? I'll call you if there's anything to report."

Avon didn't answer. Tarrant hurried to pull on his clothes and left, carrying his boots and shutting the alcove behind himself. The flight deck was quiet, the other alcoves were sealed, and the lights lowered to 'night'. The only one he saw was Soolin, sitting by the detector monitor. She looked up and said nothing, but her gaze was questioning.

"He'll be all right. I don't know that I will." Tarrant sighed and stomped into his boots. "I think I ought to jump ship at the next planet we pass."

Soolin said, "He's angry at you, then."

"No. Worse. He accepts the necessity of my 'carrying out a distasteful mission'." Tarrant sat down beside Soolin and began checking the log. He thought of the others and winced mentally. Either Dayna or Vila would be bound to make some comment. Probably try to make light of it, as they did when all the worst things happened. Only it wasn't a joke. Not to him. Not anymore. Having Avon helpless beneath him had taught him something he hadn't really wanted to know. Wasn't sure he could live with. He hadn't felt simple lust. He hadn't felt comradely. He'd felt possessive. Protective, even. Which meant he was in lo...emotionally attached to Avon. Not a really viable proposition. And if Avon ever figured that one out... well, suicide wasn't in it. "There it is." He concentrated on the blip that had to indicate the black ship. He was the pilot. He had his job. He would do it, and everything would calm down and return to normal. "Close scan. It's not moving."

Soolin leaned in to look. "A trap?"

"Possible. But we'll have to check it out. Let me tell Avon first."

***

Avon agreed that it could be a trap. They all did, but as Tarrant had noted, they had to make certain. Tarrant wasn't sure whether it was pragmatism, machismo, paranoia, or simple embarrassment but Avon insisted on teleporting over to the black ship with Tarrant, and no one else.

Then again, knowing Avon, it was probably all four.

"So far, so good," Tarrant remarked, as they went through empty corridors in the ostentatiously black interior of the black ship. It was dark, too. "Emergency lighting. Maybe the main systems are out." After all, they couldn't have the monopoly on bad luck, no matter how it seemed.

"Maybe you ought to send in your visiting card." A normal Avon response, but Tarrant felt there was an abnormal effort behind it.

"Well if it's a trap he knows we're here." Tarrant considered suggesting they split up, but he didn't really think Avon was entirely himself. And this Cancer did have a reputation.

They worked their way up to the flight deck. Someone was at the controls. Tarrant pushed Avon behind him and leaped forward to shoot Cancer. Only the figure was a dummy. Before he realized he'd been set up, a big, blonde man dressed in black emblazoned with a crab design stepped out of hiding and held his gun on Tarrant. 

"Please put down your weapon." Cancer had a deep, nearly mesmerizing, voice.

Tarrant dropped his gun.

Avon was still in the corridor, and he shot from there, blasting the gun out of Cancer's hand. "Only a man," Avon said.

Cancer's eyes gleamed. "Are you quite sure?" He was motionless out of respect for Avon's gun, but he didn't show any fear.

"Good shot," Tarrant said, reaching down for his weapon. He was distracted as a small woman barreled into Cancer, beating at his chest and crying out in fear. 

Cancer grabbed her around the throat, using her as a shield. "Now, as I was saying. Drop your weapon."

Tarrant straightened, leaving his gun on the deck. Avon stood his ground, eyes giving away nothing. Cancer tightened his hold on the woman's throat, but Avon didn't react. Then Cancer picked the woman up and threw her at Avon. Avon's hand twitched and he shot her. The woman screamed and collapsed. Tarrant was shocked, but Avon's reaction was more startling. He went paper-white and swayed on his feet.

"Avon!" Tarrant ran to Avon's side. "It was an accident." Avon was looking down at the dead woman and Tarrant saw his lips move. It looked as if he was saying 'Anna'. "NO! Avon..." he stopped, hearing a sound behind him, and realized he'd forgotten all about Cancer. He whirled back to face the enemy. Cancer was still unarmed. He was staring at the woman, apparently as shocked as they were.

"You killed her," Cancer said and Avon flinched as if he'd been slapped.

"She's dead because of you," Tarrant snapped, angry on Avon's behalf. "If you hadn't bought her..."

Cancer looked up from his horrified stare at the woman's corpse. "I didn't buy her." His voice was lighter, and the hard expression was gone from his face. "She bought me. Well, no, it wasn't her, it was the other woman. Tall woman. Short hair. Expensive gown."

"Servalan." Tarrant said.

"That's what this one called her." The man they thought of as Cancer nodded. "I'm Wyman, an entertainer."

Avon's head lifted. "An actor." He came out of his trance and was at Wyman, hand bunched in the tunic of the man's Cancer costume. "And where is Cancer?"

Wyman was choking as Avon half-lifted the much larger man by the throat. "Her! Her! She's Cancer!" he cried, pointing at the dead woman. "She said, she said, if I helped, she would go away with me. She said she was tired of killing, but she needed to fulfill one last commission before she could retire."

Avon dropped Wyman and reeled back. "And you believed her." Avon laughed. "You're as big a fool as we were. Servalan. Cancer. An... The female of the species is deadlier than the male." The laugh was beginning to sound like hysteria, as he dropped into a chair.

"Avon." Tarrant kept his tone level, part of his attention still on Wyman. Just because the man's story sounded plausible didn't make him trustworthy. If nothing else, his confession had proved he would have helped murder them all. "We need to call the others. Decide what to do."

Avon nodded, then shook his head. "It doesn't really matter. Do as you please." Avon pushed to his feet, and walked out of the flight deck.

"Avon!" Tarrant was exasperated. He couldn't leave Wyman, particularly he couldn't leave him alone on the flight deck. He turned on Wyman, venting his frustration. "What was her plan? She had to meet Servalan afterward to collect her pay. Where and when was that to be?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry. She didn't tell me."

Disgusted, Tarrant shoved Wyman against a bulkhead where he would be visible while Tarrant used the ship to ship communicator. "Stay there. I'm already in a foul mood, don't do anything." He flipped the comm. unit on. "Cancer to Scorpio. Cancer to Scorpio. Are you there, Vila?"

Vila's voice came back, reassuringly calm. "Where else would I be?"

Tarrant heard Dayna next, "Are you all right?"

"Fine." Tarrant paused. "We're both fine. There's been a complication, though. Cancer is dead."

"What?" from Vila, and "good," from Dayna, were both reasonable reactions, but not much help. Soolin was more to the point, asking, "Did you find out anything before he died?"

"She." Tarrant shook his head, even though they couldn't see him. "No. Look, you'd better get over here. I need all the help I can get to figure this out."

"You?" Vila said, having caught the singular nature of Tarrant's statement. "What about Avon?"

"He'll be all right." But Tarrant wasn't sure enough to make the statement convincing.

There was a muffled squabble in the background, which Tarrant really didn't need to hear clearly.

"Look, Dayna and I will be right over," Vila said.

"All right." Tarrant might have preferred Soolin's cool common-sense, but it wasn't worth arguing with Dayna. He turned his attention fully onto Wyman. "Now you can either be tied up somewhere out of the way, or you can tell me everything she said to you."

Wyman lowered his head. "It was mostly... personal."

"Yes, all right, you can leave out the love-letters."

Wyman frowned in concentration. "Well, she asked about my training. She wanted to know if I could put on a convincing performance."

Tarrant nodded.

"Oh. One thing struck me as rather odd. She asked about my vocal training in particular. Wanted to know how well I would go over on audio."

"Damn." Tarant stood up as the last details of the plot suddenly came clear to him. "Servalan. She's been listening." 

As if on cue, Servalan's rich, throaty laugh rang out from the comm. unit. "The whole time. Dear Tarrant. What a shame about Cancer. I thought she was such a charming, capable woman. Well, it just goes to show if you want something done..."

Tarrant lunged for the communicator. "Scorpio, Scorpio! Teleport us up! Now!" The communicator went dead. Tarrant reached for the controls. "Dead, too. And so are we." He wasn't paying any attention to Wyman.

"What do you mean, dead?" Wyman asked nervously.

Tarrant grinned mirthlessly. "That lady's been trying to kill us for several years. If I can't get this ship moving before she gets here, she'll get her wish."

"No, she won't," Dayna said, coming onto the flight deck. She stepped over the body on the threshold. Vila was following her, and he made an exaggerated flinch around the corpse. "Did you forget we were coming?"

"I've been busy. Let's go." 

"What about me?" Wyman asked. 

"Perhaps Servalan's still listening. Try to put on a convincing death scene for her, will you?"

They teleported back to Scorpio and were greeted by Soolin and Neebrox. Tarrant said, "Let's get out of here. Avon..." He glanced around, but Avon wasn't there. 

"Avon?" Dayna asked Tarrant.

"He didn't come back with us," Vila said, summing up the obvious.

Tarrant remembered a cellar back on Earth. "Damn him. Look, put me back."

"You haven't got time," Soolin said. "There's a pursuit ship coming up fast."

"Put me back!" he snapped.

"We need a pilot, Tarrant!" Soolin said.

"And I need him." Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit shit. Now I've gone and said it in front of witnesses.

After a long moment's silence, Soolin said, "All right. But hurry." Vila operated the controls while Dayna picked up an extra teleport bracelet and came to join Tarrant on the teleport pad.

Tarrant took the bracelet, but she kept coming and stood beside him. He said, "Look, you don't have to..."

"Oh, shut up," Dayna said crossly. "I've lost my chance at Avon, but maybe Servalan will come over for a quick gloat, and I'll get her."

***

Cancer's ship was quiet, Avon noted idly. None of the systems were working. Probably that was not a good sign, but he couldn't summon the energy to care about it. He was glad that it was quiet. And dark. He needed to think without distractions- without Vila's babbling, or Dayna's predatory enthusiasm, or Soolin's cynical cool or ... no, let's figure one thing out at a time.

He shouldn't have killed that woman by accident. It had turned out that he'd done the right thing, but he shouldn't have done it by accident. Like Anna. He hadn't actually thought about it then either, just reacted, like any hunted animal reacts to a threat. Attack first. Think about it later. If at all. He didn't like what he was becoming. He'd adapted too well to his new life.

He looked ahead to his future, and saw only more of the same. Fighting and running, killing and never even knowing why he was killling, except that they would kill him if he didn't kill them first. It wasn't reasonable. It wasn't logical. There had to be some sane way of running a revolution, since he was stuck with one. Sane and profitable would be nice, but at this point he'd settle for simply having someone else to talk to, to tell him when he was going too far. 

Someone. His mouth twitched, in wry recognition of the way his mind had led him. There was only one person on Scorpio with the training and the personality to answer his requirements. But could he trust Tarrant?

Avon was wandering, one hand idly touching a bulkhead as he went. It was cold, and he found himself shivering. He hadn't been cold with Tarrant. That had been a surprise to him. The drug... no, the drug only aroused him, made him need physical completion. He didn't believe the drug could make him care. He didn't think anything could make him care. But Tarrant had. When Tarrant took him, that could merely have been hormonal drives overriding normal preferences. But what he said, while he was in Avon... what he said in his sleep afterward...had moved Avon despite himself. 

Tarrant had gone to him out of duty. It didn't mean anything to him. It couldn't. But... Tarrant had pushed Avon aside and entered Cancer's control room first, as if he valued Avon's safety over his own. 

Could that reaction merely be the aftereffects of a sexual encounter? His cock throbbed in reminiscence and his sore buttocks clenched regretfully around emptiness. Granted, one rather intense sexual encounter. One which he wouldn't really mind repeating. Only without the drugs, and with a bit more equality. Of course, Tarrant would refuse. Even if he weren't strictly a 'ladies' man' he firmly believed in ship's decorum, and all that nonsense.

He sighed. It was all rather depressing, when you stopped to think about it. Everything was rather depressing. And didn't look likely to improve.

***

The black ship was no less dingy and depressing than before, but Tarrant didn't care. He yelled, "Avon, damn it, get out here before Servalan blows us all to hell and gone!" as he ran down the main corridor.

"Now, that's the way I'd like my lover to talk," Dayna said, admiringly, as she ran alongside Tarrant, looking rapidly from side to side.

"He's not... we're not... oh, Dayna you wouldn't understand. I don't understand."

"Why am I not surprised," came from a cross-connecting passage.

"Avon!" Tarrant turned quickly, along with Dayna. "Servalan is coming."

Avon tilted his head slightly, as if listening for footsteps. "Ah. Coming in for the kill, herself. The personal touch."

"Put the bracelet on." Tarrant held it out. "Please."

Avon stared at it. He still had the gun that killed Cancer, held loosely in one hand. The muzzle tilted carelessly toward his own head, and Tarrant held his breath. "Why?" Avon asked. He looked genuinely puzzled.

"I want you to come back with us. I want you to live, Avon."

Avon's puzzlement grew. "Why?" 

Dayna lost patience. "Because he loves you. Look, Avon either you put that bracelet on now, or Servalan is going to kill us all, including your favorite pilot, and I think falling in love with you is quite punishment enough. Don't you?"

Avon looked at her blankly for a long moment, and then he laughed. "You may be right." He let the gun droop, and held out his hand to Tarrant. "I seem to have lost my bracelet somewhere."

"Here." Tarrant wasn't sure if it felt the same way to Avon, but when he locked the bracelet around Avon's wrist, he felt as if he were sealing a contract. 

Avon glanced down at the bracelet, and was still looking at it when Dayna signalled Scorpio, and they were taken by the teleport.

***

Avon arrived, graced everyone with the same blank, bland stare as he removed his bracelet, leaned over and took Tarrant's and stowed them away properly. Then he went to his usual flight deck position, and sat down. He glanced at Tarrant. "If you have nothing better to do, it might be a good idea to leave before Servalan arrives."

"True. She may have enjoyed the performance, but I think she plans to bring the house down." Tarrant was already turning Scorpio.

No one else said anything, but an electric undercurrent tingled along Tarrant's nerves. It wasn't over, and settled, not yet. Not by a long shot.

***

They hadn't been underway long when an explosion registered from the location of Cancer's ship. Avon looked at Tarrant. "I see the show went over with a bang." He turned to Neebrox, as if suddenly noticing the old man. "I should imagine you would like to return to your home. Tell Tarrant where it is." He got up and went off toward the nearest sleeping alcove while Neebrox was babbling his thanks. "I'm tired." He glanced back at Tarrant. "But not that tired." And then he disappeared into the alcove.

Everyone else looked at Tarrant, who looked down at the console for a moment, then grinned and lifted his head. "We're taking you home, Neebrox." Home. That was an interesting concept. It could be a place. Or it could be a person. As soon as he set the coordinates for Neebrox's home, he was going to visit his home. And have some hope of being welcomed with open arms.


End file.
